


The Sky Behind Those Lights

by SnowHeart



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Star Trek
Genre: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, George doesn't deserve this, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Lesbians in Space, M/M, Mystery, Star Trek AU, Tarsus IV, far more explosions than regulations advise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:59:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowHeart/pseuds/SnowHeart
Summary: The story of the USS Liberty and her crew as they begin the first five year mission into uncharted space.Featuring (in no particular order) a captain in need of a right hand man, sabotage, idiots in love, a small revolution, a vulcan who's willing to wait for it, and a certain young, scrappy ensign.Universe, meet Alexander Hamilton.





	1. Chapter 1

_We understand the lights... we understand so much._

_But the sky behind those lights - mostly void, partially stars? That sky reminds us that we don't understand even more._

_\- One Year Later, Joseph Fink and Jeffery Cramer_

 

 

 

**Chapter One**

 

 

_“You need to go! I can buy you some time, but you have to run, and you have to do it now.”_

_He’s bleeding. Or at least he thinks he’s bleeding. That would explain the warmth trickling down his face._

_“I’m not leaving here without you!”_

_They don’t have time for this._ _“If you don’t get out of here, they’re all going to die! Do you get that? Ned’s going to die, and Maria, and Matty, and-“_

_“And_ you’re _going to die if I go! I can’t just leave you behind.”_

_The sound of shattering glass, and boots pounding ever closer. A smile._

_“I’m sorry, Alex.”_

 

**Nine Years Later**

 

He strums his fingers against the tabletop, and wonders if it’s physically possible for this meeting to drag on any longer. Or maybe they've been struck by a temple anomaly, and they're trapped in a universe where time moves ten times slower than normal. Yes, that must be it. He'll get the science division on it right away.

It’s not that George Washington doesn’t enjoy hearing his crew’s opinions and, more frequently, their arguments. Far from it, in fact. It’s just difficult to get too excited about inventory disputes, however crucial they probably are. There’s only so many times he can listen to security argue with medical about  needs the extra storage space before he looses it all together. It's one of the things they never tell you when you become a captain, just how much bickering you're forced to sit through. He should have run like hell for the stars when he had the chance.

“If there’s nothing else?” He says eventually, clapping his hands together. George is half way to standing when his First Officer speaks.

“Actually, Sir, there is something.” Burr looks at him evenly. “We’re due to launch again tomorrow baring any technical difficulties-“

“-Which there won’t be,” Mulligan cuts in, and George is sure he isn’t imagining the offence across the Chief Engineer’s face. 

“-and you still haven't appointed a new tactical officer. I can’t help but question the wisdom of beginning our mission with such a vacancy.”

They all turn to look at him, and George sighs. “Thanks, everyone. That’ll do for now. Any problems, comm me. Let’s launch this thing on time for once.”

The senior crew file out, Angelica shooting him a sympathetic smile on her way out, and George is reminded how glad he is that she's staying on as helmswoman. Then the door closes with a click and he turns back to Burr. 

“We’ve talked about this,” he says. “I know you took it hard, what happened to Montgomery. He was your sponsor through the academy, your friend, and he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

A beat of silence. Burr’s face as impassive as ever. “As I assured you, my efficiency of work was not affected-“

“That’s not what I’m trying to say.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, and wonders how many more time’s he’s going to have to have this conversation with his second. “But I’m not prepared to disrupt crew dynamics by promoting someone, and none of the transfer applications were good enough. We can make do without a TO for now.”

Burr’s jaw twitches, a tiny slip that most would miss. But George has served with him long enough to understand the minutia behind his expressions. At least as well as anyone can claim to understand a Vulcan, that is. “This is a five year mission, Captain. Unprecedented, exploratory, and into entirely uncharted space. Any number of eventualities could occur, and without a Tactical Officer-“

“Exactly.” George says. “Any number of eventualities. We don’t have the right person for the job, and I won’t put my crew at risk with a sub-par appointment until we find someone suitable. 

Burr clearly wants to argue, and for a moment George is sure he will. In the end, he only nods curtly. “As you say, Captain. I’ll just expect the ensigns to come aboard before we launch, then.”

“Don’t you worry.” He claps the Vulcan on the shoulder as he passes. “They won’t disappoint.”

\--

 

“You’re doing the thing with your knee again.”

Alex glances down at his leg, rapidly bouncing up and down in his brand new uniform, and tries to keep it still. It’s pointless, though. He’s got far too much pent up energy, and sitting in this cramped shuttle isn’t any way to expel it. He glances at the girl across from him, and scowls. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

Peggy smiles, brushing a strand of curling hair from her face. For once it’s regulation, neatly pinned back from her face in two neat braids. It’s not exactly her usual style, but all of them are dressed impeccably today. For most of the newly graduated cadets in the shuttle, it’s their first assignment on an actual starship, and even those with experience have never been part of a five year mission before. No one has. The anticipation is tangible in the air, and everyone is looking to impress.

Alex most of all. 

“I can’t help it,” he says, lowering his voice so only Peggy can hear. “I mean, this is it! Deep space! We’re gonna be out there, seeing planets and species and bits of the universe that no-one from Earth’s ever seen… do you know how insane that is?”

Peggy’s been Alex’s best (admittedly only) friend for most of his time at the academy, and he’s sure it’s at least half down to her ability to put up with his overexcitement. He obsesses, he runs his mouth off, he talks too loud... Alex knows all this, but he can’t seem to help it. And if Peggy’s taken all of it in her stride with nothing more than an eye-roll since day one? Well, probably means more to him than she’ll ever understand.

“It’s alright for you!” he adds, as she starts smirking again. “Your whole family’s in the fleet.”

“So what?”

“You’re used to this stuff. You’ve been elbows deep in warp-cores since you could walk... hell, both your sisters are going to be on board!”

“It’s a five year mission,” she replies softly. “I don’t think anyone’s used to quite this.”

He doesn't get the chance to reply. A murmur falls over the shuttle as everyone turns to the windows. Alex follows their gaze and feels his mouth drop open, as the great silver ship comes into view. It’s a giant, and even in the space dock it’s power is evident. He stares at the sleek hull, at the words _USS Liberty, NCC-1766_ proudly emblazoned across it and feels a tug deep in his gut. It’s crazy, but one look at the starship, and Alex feels like he’s finally found his place in the universe. 

_This is it, he promises. This is my chance. Universe, meet Alexander Hamilton._

They dock with a thud, and the next forty five minutes or so is a blur of last minute safety protocols and inspections. He all but forgets his nervous excitement in the organised chaos, and Alex is already exhausted by the time they file into the cargo bay. He takes his place next to Peggy, clutching a standard issue crate tightly under his arms. The small box contains all his worldly possessions for the next five years, and if he’s honest, all his world possessions at all. He hadn’t come to the academy with much, after all.

“Fall in!” Comes a voice, and the small crowd of ensigns jump to parade rest. Alex feels his heart leap in his chest as he recognises the speaker. He hasn’t seen Captain George Washington in a little under four years, and the man’s no less imposing than he had been then. 

“Now, I don’t know how they did things on other ships, for those of you who’ve served on other ships that is, but from this moment on you’re all part of the Liberty crew. You’re part of something bigger than just yourself. That’s why your captain is talking to a group of ensigns, instead of doing one of the thousand things I could be seeing to pre-launch, but that’s also why you are expected to put your crew above all else for the next five years. You will be asked to sacrifice your comfort, your security, perhaps even your life, all in the name of this ship and this fleet. It's a big ask, but no less than I expect of anyone who wears our uniform. You don't like it, this is your chance to get off.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, in which no one moves or so much as glances at the bay door. After a moment, Washington smiles. It’s warm, almost fatherly, but it does nothing to hide the aura of raw authority that radiates from the captain. His eyes meet Alex’s, and for a moment he hopes (or perhaps is terrified) that Washington might recognise him. But he doesn’t react to Alex’s tentative smile.

“Alright, I’m sure you all have quarters to find and division heads to report to,” Washington booms. “Dismissed.”

The captain turns on his heel and walks away into the crowd of crewmen, leaving twelve somewhat awestruck ensigns in his wake.

“Wow,” says the woman next to Alex, an Orion in science blues. “That’s Washington? They used to talk about him at the academy. You know he faced down half the Romulan Fleet with a ruined ship and got them to back off? And he was the one who followed the distress signal from-“

“Peggy!”

Alex recognises the girl from the photos tacked above Peggy’s bed. She strides towards them, eyes brighter than her gold dress, and salutes. “Ensign Schuyler.”

“Helmswoman Schuyler.”

They grin at each other, before Peggy throws her arms around her sister. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she says.

“Yeah well, it took you long enough to graduate.”

“Did it in a semester less than you did, didn't I?” 

“True, but who's got two stripes on her sleeve?”

“Give me six months, Sis.” Peggy smiles, before turning to Alex. “Hey, Hamilton? Come meet the oldest Schuyler sister, and the woman responsible for making sure we don’t hit any planets. Angelica, this is my friend Alex.”

“I make no promises,” she says, holding her hand out. “Angelica. I’m the helmswoman.” She eyes up his gold shirt. “Please tell me you’re a pilot. We could do with some decent fliers in the crew.”

He shakes his head. “Tactical division, I’m afraid.”

Angelica grimaces. “My condolences. We haven’t had a TO since Montgomery got shot last mission, so the whole division’s under Lee’s supervision until the captain names a replacement.”

“Yeah? What’s he like?” Alex asks, hoping he doesn't sound too eager.

“Well, he’s a fantastic navigator but between you and me he’s kind of an asshole.”

And _oh_ , Alex likes this one.

“I didn’t hear anything in Washington’s little pep-talk about trash-talking the rest of the crew,” Peggy teases.

“You try sitting next to Lee for eight hours every shift.” Angelica says distractedly. “Look, I gotta go. Ship to fly and all that. ‘Liza says she’s sorry for not being here, but she’s stuck on med-bay inventory for hours. You know where you’re going to engineering?”

“Of course. Who’s my chief?”

Angelica only smiles. “You’re going to love him.”

\--

 

“Comms? Washington asks.

“All set,” Lafayette replies, flicking a switch on his console. He knows his captain’s little launch routine, and precisely the order in which he’ll have to patch Washington through to the different departments. They’ve done this a thousand times, although never quite like this. Never setting sail in the knowledge that they won’t see home for five long years. He can hardly even spare a thought for his dear Adrienne, not with such a thrill pounding through his veins.

“Security?”

“No problems to report, Sir.”

“Medical?”

“Fully stocked and ready to go. You’d better keep my medbay this empty for the next five years, Sir.”

Laf can’t hold back the snort which earns him a scowl from Lee, but Washington only seems amused. “Duly noted, Doctor Laurens." _Flick_. Engineering?”

Herc’s voice is crisp over the speakers. "Our core's in beautiful shape, if I do say so myself. Ready for warp when you are.”

“Course?”

“Plotted and laid in, Captain.” Charles Lee’s voice is as smug and full of pride as ever, but this is the one day Laf can’t bring himself to roll his eyes. They’re all full of pride today, even if it’s pride in the crew and the captain they serve, and he’s in too good a mood to pick a fight.

“Excellent.” Washington falters a moment as he makes to turn and face the space over his right shoulder, where his tactical officer used to stand. For the smallest of seconds, the smile slides from his face and Laf can all but taste blood at the back of his throat, before Washington swings around to look at the Vulcan standing to his left. “So what do you think, Burr? Shall we go take a peak at the edge of the universe?”

“As the universe is in a state of constant expansion, reaching it’s limit from a point within said expansion is not possible, Captain.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” A joke teases at the corner of Washington’s mouth. He spins back around to face the view screen and the sea of stars beyond. “Miss Schuyler? Punch it.”

“With pleasure.”

She pushes forward the throttle and, deep within the heart of their ship, Laf can hear the hum of the warp core engaging. No, he can _feel_ it, a deep vibration that shakes the bridge and his very bones. They’re on a ship that’s about to take them further than anyone has ever ventured, but he thinks that this moment right here is his favourite part of any voyage. The deep breath before the plunge, the calm before the storm, that split-second of no return before they tip over the edge and into the unknown. 

He smiles.

And then spaceport and earth all fall away, and all they see is stars. 

\--

 

_“If you don’t get out of here, they’re all going to die! Do you get that? Ned’s going to die, and Maria, and Matty, and-“_

Alex wakes up with a scream in his throat, and clenched fists tangled in his sheets. He takes a deep shuddering breath, and lets his head fall back against the pillow. _I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m in my quarters on the USS Liberty and we’re at warp and-_

It’s no good. Alex desperately wants to put the lights on full, if only to see what he’s trying to tell himself, but it’s...  _shit_ , just gone three in the morning ship time and he doesn't want to wake his roommates. He's surprised they're still asleep, what with all the noise he's probably been making.

Instead, he takes another deep breath and pads across the floor to the bathroom. It’s amazing he doesn't walk into anything in the near black of the quarters, but it’s not as if they've unpacked. By the time they'd launched and the first whirlwind shift was over, it had been all Alex could do to pull off his shirt and crawl into bed.

He fumbles for the switch and immediately winces, if not at the sudden brightness then at his reflection in the mirror. Under the artificial lights, the purple shadows under his eyes seem more pronounced than they had on earth, and his too-skinny frame is evident. 

_Some credit to the fleet you are,_ he thinks. _Day one, and you look ready to snap. Come on, you’re better than this. You have to be._

Because he really does. This ship, this mission, it’s his one opportunity to prove his worth and be part of something phenomenal. Why should a little thing like his past hold him back from that?

He looks himself in the eye, at the hazel irises that stare resolutely back from the mirror. “My name is Alexander Hamilton,” he whispers. “And you can’t hurt me anymore.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Got any sixes?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s not the phrase, and you know it.”

Lafayette frowns in mock confusion. “Are you sure? I distinctly remember you teaching me the rules to _go fuck yourself_ …”

“Shut up and give me my sixes, asshole.”

Laf huffs and hands his cards over, and John can’t help but laugh at his petulant expression, nor Herc’s smug grin. The three of them are sitting around a makeshift table in engineering (that’s probably some vital machine that could blow up at any minute, he’s found it’s best not to ask) halfway through their third round of the evening. They could be up in one of the rec rooms, of course, but then then Angelica would be taking money of all of them. She’s got five years to humiliate their asses over a cards table, after all.

Besides, it’s something of a tradition, the three of them skulking away in some forgotten corner of the ship and gambling over not-entirely-legal alcohol. They got into the habit way back when they were all ensigns and way out of their depth on their first mission, and one they've kept up whenever he, Laf and Herc are stationed together. Perhaps it’s not seemly behaviour now the three of them are officers, but at least it gives them an excuse to complain about the ensigns of their own. 

“I mean, its a miracle one of them hasn't killed us all!” Herc complains, tossing down a card. “I don’t know what they’re teaching in San Fransisco these days, but if the so-called best and brightest can’t tell one end of a transporter cuff from the other, then the rest of the Fleet must be really screwed.”

“That’s re-assuring,” John comments. “So is the ship going to blow up before or after I have to start crew vaccinations? Because if you’re telling me I won’t have to bother with that bullshit, I’ll kiss you right now.”

Crew vaccinations are, in his professional opinion, the single worst part about being a ship’s chief medical officer, especially a ship this big. Not only does each hypo have to be tailored to every crew member’s individual species, health and history of space travel, but they’re not exactly co-operative. He’s not sure what it is about Starfleet that inspires brave and intrepid space travellers to become utter children at the sight of a needle, but as soon as word gets round that vaccinations have begun, it’s suddenly impossible to get anyone to report to medbay. 

Maybe he’ll get Eliza to do them this time. People feel so much worse about saying no to her.

“I’m serious,” Herc says, snapping him out of his musings. “Barton is entirely useless, and I’m already tempted to ship Xo back to the academy. The only decent one in the whole lot is the Schuyler kid, and I’m starting to think she actually will blow us up just because she’s bored.”

“That sounds familiar,” Laf smirks.

“What do you…? Oh, _come on!_ ” Herc throws his cards down onto the makeshift table. “That was one time! And they never proved it was me!”

John laughs, as the memory of an arid smoke pillar rising from an academy shuttle bay strings the back of his throat. “No? Then I must have stayed up all night treating some other idiot’s burns.”

“And trying to regrow his eyebrows!” Laf adds gleefully, as if there way any chance they could have forgotten that little detail. “Remind me, how long did they take to grow back? Was it three weeks? Four?”

“Five,” Herc grumbles.

“Hey, don’t listen to this asshole,” John says, laying a sympathetic hand on Herc’s shoulder. “I thought that was a fantastic look on you.”

Herc buries his head in his hands. “I hate you both so much.”

“Weird though,” John says sometime later, once they’ve cheered their Chief Engineer up by refilling his glass. “We’ve all got a Schuyler now. Please tell me there aren’t anymore of them.”

Laf snorts. “I hardly _have_ Angelica. Even if she didn’t outrank me, I would dare you to say that to her face.”

“And you’re totally Eliza’s bitch.” Herc adds.

“I am not!”

“You are.” 

“Face it, my dear Laurens,” Laf says with a small smile. “The Schuylers have got _us_.”

\--

 

_“Ninth floor,_ ” announces a smooth voice, and Alex steps out of the turbolift with what he grudgingly admits must be a spring in his step. But hey, sue him. He’s on the most high tech vessel the fleet has to offer, with a cup of replicated coffee that’s actually drinkable, and his first actual report to submit. Add this to the fact that he hasn’t had a nightmare since his first night on the ship, and, well, Alex figures the grin he can’t quite shake is entirely justified. 

He smiles to the various crew members he passes. Of course, Alex still doesn’t know the majority of their names only two weeks into the mission,  but he recognises more faces every day and he’s made it his personal mission to know everybody by the time the first year is over. If Washington can take the time to remember the names of everyone on his ship, then Alex should be aiming for the same. 

Today though, he’s more focused on the PADD clutched tight to his chest. There’s not an awful lot for the tactics division to do while they’re at warp, but the announcement two days ago that they’re approaching a small planet system on the edge of the Alpha Quadrant sent the whole ship into action. This report, the one that’s about to be read and considered by the actual bridge crew is his first chance to really stand out.

So yes, Alex supposes life is pretty damn good right now. Really there’s only one problem.

“Ah, Hamilton, got my report, I see?”

Okay, so make that two problems. Alex grits his teeth and does his best not to let his smile slip. “Lieutenant Lee, good morning. Yes, I’ve got it here.”

Lee isn’t so much a problem as he is a general annoyance. What with tactical having been on the back burner so far, Alex has been absorbed into the general duty rota and so hasn’t had much to do with his temporary commanding officer. On the rare occasions he’s been on the bridge at the same time as Lee he’s as courteous as he can manage, and the sight of Angelica (and the whole crew to be honest) rolling their eyes helps. It’s not that Alex even minds an unapproachable superior officer (although it’s hard not to compare him to the captain’s authoritative yet encouraging approach.) It’s that Lee blatantly has no clue what he’s doing.

“This is your proposition for engagement with potential civilisations in this system?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean, all scans suggest the planets are long since abandoned but they have the same basic religious infrastructure as a yet unnamed cluster of worlds that the USS Patriot made contact with last year, and according to Agnew’s thesis on-“

“I’ll take your word for it.” Lee plucks the PADD out of Alex’s hand despite his protestations. “It’s all going completely redundant anyway, what with there being no lifeforms on the scanners, but I’ll hand it over to Washington all the same. You can go.”

Alex blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ll present the report if anyone asks for it. No need to waste the captain’s time. Dismissed, Hamilton.”

“But-“

“Who’s wasting my time now?”

They both turn to see Washington striding towards them and quickly stand to attention, Alex nearly spilling coffee all over himself in his haste. The captain smiles. “Good morning Lieutenant, Ensign. Don’t we have a meeting to be getting to, instead of chatting in the hallways?”

“Yes, Sir.” Lee says. “We were just discussing Hamilton’s report on the unlikely event of first contact in the region and-“

“Better to discus it with everyone present, no?” Alex isn’t sure if he imagine’s the flash of amusement behind Washington eyes. “Or is it a different meeting we’re supposed to be having?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well then,” Washington extends an arm. “Please, lead the way Mr. Hamilton.”

Alex tries not to look smug as he takes his PADD back from Lee, he really does. He may or may not be entirely unsuccessful.

The rest of the senior crew, at least those directly involved in the proposed mission down to the first planet. Angelica shoots him a smile as he enters, Security Chief Prevost and the comms officer (de Motier? Marquis? Lafayette? Alex still isn't sure quite what his name is and everyone gives him a different answer) nod politely, and Burr simply frowns.

And there lies Alex’s main problem.

He’s encountered Vulcans before, and he’s never rubbed them up the wrong way like this before (at least no more than he seems to rub everyone up the wrong way.) He had a Vulcan professor who at least appreciated his ability to argue a point, if not the slightly unorthodox approach, and the first starship he ever saw… well, point is, he’s sure it’s not some huge cultural barrier between him and the first officer. There’s no reason he can work out for Burr to possibly hate him, he just does. Apparently. 

And that annoys Alex far more than it should do. 

\--

 

“You know, you really should be wearing proper uniform on duty,” Hercules comments lightly. 

“What?” Schuyler replies, or at least her legs do. They’re the only bit of his (totally not favourite) ensign visible right now, sticking out from under a coolant system. 

“I said you should… ah, forget it.” He hasn't had much luck in getting her to wear the correct shirt since day one, even when having the conversation face to face, and he’s starting to admit she has a point. Not only does it not affect her ability to do her job, but these bright red uniforms aren't the most practical for a group of people who spend their days crawling through jefferies tubes and elbows deep in engines. He glances down at his own shirt, stained with oil, minor scorching, and a substance he can’t quite identify but probably isn't safe around an open flame, and grudgingly decides to give up the argument. 

Besides, Schuyler is fast becoming the only member of the Liberty’s engineering staff who doesn’t make him want to tear his own hair out. 

“Can you pass me a power coupling?” her legs yell. “One of the big ones? Think I found our faulty panel.”

He slides her the equipment, and a few minutes (and a muffled string of curses in languages he can’t begin to recognise) later, there’s a crack and the sound of the coolant system jarring back into life. 

“Not bad, Schuyler,” he smiles, as she stands, dusts off her black undershirt, and shrugs.

“You had a wiring issue. Quicker just to bypass the panel completely than to try and fix every connection individually. Dunno why the fleet regs don’t just advise that, to be honest, it’s a far better use of time and resources, and does the job just as well. You’ll want to take the whole thing out and replace it completely at some stage but that should hold for now, and you shouldn't touch it while we’re moving. Sir,” she tacks on as a panicked afterthought. “I mean, that’s what I’d recommend. If you want me to look at the connections and fix them up according to-“

He holds up a hand. “It’s fine, Schuyler. You don't have to watch your _sirs_ and your salutes down here, as long as you don’t hurt our ship. Carry on pulling repairs like that, and we’re good.”

“Yes, Sir. I mean, um…”

Herc can’t help but laugh. He crosses to check the power read out on the system she’s been working on (which is, of course back up to full capacity) and says “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually. Three Schuylers on the same ship is two too many to try and keep track of, do you mind if I call you something else? I usually stick with _Greenie_ for my ensigns but you’re doing far better than most of the idiots I have to call lieutenant so…” he shrugs. “Margarita, isn’t it?” 

She makes a face. “Did Eliza tell you that?”

“She might have mentioned it.” He’s in medical almost every week, if not for himself then to collect some idiot who’s dropped a wrench on their own foot, and Eliza’s always made time to chat.

“The only person who’s ever called me Margarita is the great aunt I was named after her. It’s Peggy. If that’s alright, I mean.”

“You just pulled off a repair job that’s way beyond academy expectations and did it by completely ignoring standard procedure. Peggy is just fine.”

\--

 

“So, in summary,” Washington says. “M class planet, perfectly habitable and by all our readings deserted?”

“Yes, Sir,” Burr replies. “No life signs as far as we can tell, neither on the surface nor subterranean. Recommending sending a standard sized landing party.”

Alex does his best not to grin at the mere idea of getting to beam down to an alien world. He hasn’t been on any planet other than Earth since he was fourteen years old, and the reality of what they’re doing out here hits him all over again.

“Captain, if I may?” The comms officer leans forward, a slight lilt to his voice. “I’d like to put myself forward for this expedition in addition the standard party. I know communications isn’t a priority, but we’re having trouble in translating the language on the monuments that the scans are picking up from up here. Examining them in person would be far easier.” 

“And it could help provide insight to the cultures and histories of the neighbouring planets,” Alex adds, before he can remind himself he’s sitting in a room with some of the highest ranks on the ship. They all turn to look at him, Burr with narrowing eyes, and Alex swallows before continuing. “I mean, architecture’s one thing for inferring information, but if any of these civilisations have ever achieved space travel, these monuments could tell us about it.” 

He’s half expecting Washington to expel him from the room for speaking out of turn, but the captain only raises an eyebrow before turning back to the communications officer. “Gilbert?” he says, (and Jesus, how many names can one guy have?) “You’ll been down with the team.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Burr, Prevost, I’ll want you down on the planet as well. And…” Washington pauses for a moment, before turning to Alex. He’s sure that Washington must be looking at someone else, at Lee sitting next to him maybe, but there’s no mistaking the intensity of his stare. “Hamilton. You’ve been looking into this system, yes?”

“Under my supervision,” Lee says, although everyone seems to ignore him.

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you prepare to beam down as well? You can assist Gilbert if necessary.”

“I… But I… I mean, of course, Captain,” Alex manages.

“Captain,” Burr says, because of course he does. “The wisdom of bringing a cadet-“

“Ensign, actually,” Alex shoots back

“- on the first landing party of this voyage is highly suspect. Surely a officer with more experience-“

“Excellent idea,” Washington says, standing to clap him on the shoulder. “Of course you can supervise Hamilton for this mission. Well volunteered.”

Alex and Burr stare at each other in confusion (well, Alex in confusion and Burr in whatever the Vulcan equivalent of pure horror is). Then, as one, they start protesting.

“Sir, you can’t be serious-“

“-made no such voluntary statement-“

“-really not a good idea, I don’t need to be babysat, and-“

“-my own sensitive measurements to make which cannot afford-“

“Enough!” Washington’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s an edge to his voice, a hint of the man who had stared down the hoards of Romulus and sent them running. It’s more than enough to shut Alex and Burr up instantly. “You’ll supervise Hamilton when we get planet side, and I’ll here no more on the subject. We’ll meet in the transporter room in forty minutes. Lieutenant Schuyler, you have the comm until we return.”

“Aye aye,” Angelica says, although she’s still looking at Alex with narrowed eyes, and an expression he can’t quite put a name on.


	3. Chapter 3

“Captain, a word?”

George glances up from the phaser he’s been double checking for faults. Angelica Schuyler stands in the door, arms crossed and a fire behind her eyes. That’s one of the many reasons he’s so glad she stayed on his crew, that single-minded intensity, but it promises that whatever she wants, he’s not going to enjoy it.

“Schuyler, of course. Come in. You’ve got a question about the mission?”

“I do.”

“If you’re wondering about my decision to leave you in charge, I have every confidence-“

She shakes her head. “I have no problem being given temporary command,” Angelica says. “I’d actually be kind of insulted if you gave it to anyone else. That’s not what I… permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Always.”

“What in the hell are you thinking, bringing an ensign on the first away team? And one that Burr so clearly hates?” 

George sighs. He’s been expecting this level of objection from his first officer, but not from her. “His academy transcripts look promising,” he shrugs. “I thought I’d give the boy a try. See what the boy can do on a low risk mission.”

“I know Alex, okay?” Angelica says, a little more softly. “He’s smart enough and seems like a decent guy, but the academy doesn’t mean anything when we’re out here. It doesn't matter if his grades are good. He’s been on a starship, what? Two weeks? And you want to send him down to the planet?”

“You’re worried Hamilton’s going to get himself hurt?”

“Honestly, Sir? I’m more concerned he’s going to get someone else killed.”

A sound in the doorway makes them both look up with a start. Ensign Hamilton’s standing just outside, arm raised as if to knock before the automatic doors opened of their own accord. He clears his throat, but his expression before he quickly schools his face back into a mask of neutral professionalism is enough to tell George he’s heard enough.

_Great work, Washington. Very professional. That’s real captain-worthy behaviour right there._

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Hamilton says, voice uncharacteristically flat. “Mr. Mulligan says they’re ready for you in the transport room. I can go and tell them to wait, or-?”

“No need.” George stands, and straps the phaser thats still in his hands to his belt. “Schuyler, report to the bridge. We might just need you up there.”

She nods, pausing only to shoot Hamilton an indecipherable look as she passes, and the ensign turns to follow her out the door.

“Hamilton!” Washington calls after him. “Walk with me.”

He stops, although freezes might be more accurate seeing how he tenses up, and waits for George to join him in the corridor. They walk in silence towards the transporter room, and George has a feeling he’s not the only one chewing his words around his mouth, trying to find the correct order in which to say them.

Hamilton beats him to it, of course. George shouldn’t be surprised. From what few reports he’s read of his progress as a cadet, Alexander Hamilton rarely struggles to speak up.

“Sir,” he says. “I’m sorry for overhearing, but Angelica, Helmswoman Schuyler that is, what she said…” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “I’d like to know why you want me on the mission. Not that I’m not grateful, Sir, truly, but is it because you think I’m good enough or-“

“Okay, that’s enough.” George stops walking abruptly, and can’t bring himself to feel bad when Hamilton almost walks squarely into his back. He glances up and down the corridor, and satisfies himself that they won’t be overheard.

“You think I’ve put you on the away team because we share a history, is that correct? That I’m showing you undue favour out of some sense of, what? Obligation? Pity?”

“I didn’t mean-“

“I think you did.” George rubs his hand across his face. “I have a ship of seven-hundred people I have to look out for, Hamilton. And while I can promise that you and I are the only two of that number who know just what you’ve been through, I can also promise that I will treat you no differently than any other crew member. You’re on this mission, hell, on this ship because I see promise in you, and I hope in time you will prove it. So how about we both go do our jobs, you show the crew what I know you’re capable of, and maybe next time you think about accusing me of nepotism. Are we understood?”

Hamilton opens and closes his mouth twice before he manages to speak. “Yes, Captain Washington,” he manages, before shooting a hasty salute and stalking away down the corridor. 

 _Well, shit._ George lets out a breath. He shouldn’t have shouted, and he definitely shouldn't have dressed Hamilton down so thoroughly for raising a perfectly valid question. It’s just so frustrating so see him wallow in self doubt, when he knows the boy is capable of so much more. Unbidden, the image of defiant hazel eyes set in a pinched, fourteen year old face rises before his eyes, and George mentally swats it away. He’s just said he’ll treat the ensign no differently, has he not?

He shakes his head. He’ll apologise to Hamilton after the mission. Right now, he’s got a planet to beam down to.

\--

 

The blur of white light clears from his vision and it’s all Alex can do not to fall as he’s sent stumbling over rocky ground. He sucks in a lungful of cool air, waiting for the world to right itself. He’s always hated transporters, and he has to restrain himself from patting down his body, just to make sure that all his limbs and essential organs have made the trip. His stomach, for it’s part, feels like it’s been left up on the Liberty.

Someone throws out an arm to steady him, and Alex takes it gratefully, before realising it belongs to the nameless (or rather, surplusly named) communications officer.

“Thanks,” he breathes.

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be fine in a minute. Is beaming always that-?” he searches for the right word. “-Disagreeable?”

To Alex’s surprise, the comms officer laughs. “You’ll get used to it, my friend, I promise you that. But you don’t mean to tell me you’ve never used a transporter before?”

“Not much call for beaming around where I grew up.”

“Where was that?”

“Nowhere you’d know,” Alex replies quickly. 

“If you two are quite finished, we have a planet to survey.”

Burr stands a way off, adjusting the settings on his tricorder as he glares at them. Alex grits his teeth, knowing he has little choice than to follow instructions as the rookie of the mission, especially after his conversation with Washington. He doesn’t miss the lazy salute the comms officer shoots once Burr’s back is turned though, nor the cheerful whisper of “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s kind of the worst.”

For all he’s supposed to be supervising, Burr seems more than content to completely ignore him in favour of whatever recordings he’s getting. Which of course, is fine by Alex. The small group fans out, each collecting their own readings, and Alex is left to try and get his head around the fact that he’s standing on another planet.

They’re in what seems to be a forrest clearing. Or at least, that’s what it would look like if, instead of trees, forrest were filled with pillars of dark rock. Each one is no thicker than a lamppost but stretches high above them, filling a sky that’s just that bit too bright to belong to earth. It’s almost fluorescent, and Alex is sure that any science officer could tell him all about the composition of the atmosphere that’s no doubt responsible, but right now he doesn’t care. He’s more than happy just to look up and know this is the furthest he’s ever been from home. 

“Earth to Hamilton?” 

He looks up to see Prevost smiling at him. There’s a warm glint to her eyes in stark contrast to the phaser strapped to each thigh, although Alex suspects that those are only the weapons she has visible. “Well, maybe not earth to, anyway.”

“Sorry. It’s just… wow.”

“Wow,” she agrees, and holds out her hand. “Theodosia.”

“Am I not supposed to call you Security Chief or something?”

“Only if the first officer’s listening. I get enough of that from the rest of my division, thanks.”

“Alex, then. I mean, it’s Alexander, but my friends call my Alex, not that I’m trying to-“

“Alex,” Theodosia interrupts, “Will do just fine. Anyone who can get Burr so riled up this early into a mission is a friend in my book.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?” He glances at Burr, who’s thankfully still immersed in work.

“Who even knows. He’s just a grade-A pain in my ass.”

“Hey, Captain?” The comms officer’s voice cuts across their conversation, confusion and anxiety leaking into those two words. He’s crouched at the base of one of the pillars (needles, more like, Alex thinks with a shiver) on the far side of the clearing. “You might want to take a look at this. There’s something off about these markings.”

Washington moves to look over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“The language. I mean, the syntax is primitive, which suggests this society never progressed beyond tribal stages.”

“That’s what all our scans tell us. What of it?”

“What it’s actually saying, Sir… I mean, it’s difficult, so much of understanding these languages depends on context but from what I can gather, it’s talking about some sort of energy source. A power…? No a machine, that’s it.” He tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “The concepts they’re talking about don’t match the levels of development we expected, if you follow me. I think this species was far more advanced than we realise.”

Washington frowns. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely, Sir. Makes you wonder what happened to them.”

He pauses for a moment, then flicks open his communicator. “Let’s find out. Washington to Liberty, come in. Carry out a secondary scan or our immediate area. I want another check for life signs, energy signatures, anything out of the ordinary that could-“

That’s as far as he gets. With a sound like a thundercrack, the pillar they’re examining snaps as the air around them explodes. Alex is thrown off his feet, landing on the rocky ground with a definite crunch. Fuck, that hurt, he thinks through the sound of the explosion that echoes through his head. Or maybe it’s more blasts. He’s not entirely sure, and the world spinning around him doesn’t help. He makes to sit up, only to be roughly shoved backwards.

“Stay down, for the love of God,” Theodosia hisses. She has one phaser loaded in her hand and the cascading curls do nothing to soften her expression, which suggests someone is about to die. He wants to argue, but between her glare and a fresh batch of explosions (he’s sure, this time), maybe it’s safer to do as she says.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asks instead, struggling to see through the dust that hangs heavy in the air, no doubt thrown up from the collapsed rock. The collapsed rock that Washington and Lafayette(?) were right next to. Oh Jesus… “We’ve got to help them!”

“What you’ve got to do,” she replies, “Is get the hell out of here. Where-“

She spins around as a shape moves out of the debris towards them, only to lower her weapon. It’s Burr, sporting a split lip and mottled green bruising, but otherwise looking unharmed. “Where are the others?” Theodosia demands.

“They… taken. I couldn’t determine… But alive. Most definitely alive.”

It’s a sign of how far the whole situation’s gone to shit that their resident Vulcan can’t even manage full sentences, but Alex is far more chilled at the implications of his words. “Taken? By who? Natives? Where?”

“Some kind of vehicle. By the time I could-“ his words are cut off by a volley of fire over their heads, this time familiar jets of light rather than the larger explosions.

“Those are phasers,” Alex says. “How the hell have they got phasers?”

“Never mind that, I’ve got to get you two back to the ship.”

“What about the others?”

“We’re no used to them down here. Let me do my job, Hamilton, and we might just get them back in one piece.” She flicks open her communicator. “Prevost to transporter room. Three for- fuck!” Another batch of phaser fire. “Three for emergency beam up. Now!”

“But-“

The world turns white.

\--

 

Eliza Schuyler is just about to clock out for the evening when the whole world goes to hell. It’s been a relatively quiet shift, with nothing more exciting than a security officer breaking his nose sparing, and she’s wondering if her sisters are going to be free for dinner when the comm link beeps. 

“Laurens report to the transporter room. As in _right fucking now!_ ” Even through the speakers she can recognise the panic in Hercules’ voice, and John all but sprints out of medbay. She’s left to try and prep for imminent arrivals the best she can without having any clue what kind of emergency this is, or how many patients to expect. It’s a situation she’s found herself in more often than she’d like since joining Starfleet, and she’s barely had time to prep a biobed and load a tray of hypos with antiseptics and anaesthetics when the doors are flung open.

John hobbles through the door with someone’s arm draped over his shoulder for support. Eliza acts on autopilot, the professional movements of a nurse taking over, which is just as well because her heart sinks as their patient looks up. Aside from her sisters, Theo is her closest friend on this damn ship and there’s something gutting about having to treat the people you care about. She helps John lower her onto a bed, and begins to examine the wound in her leg.

“What happened?”

“Got shot while we were requesting beam-up. Left myself open like a fucking- _Christ!_ ” Theo hisses as Eliza wipes her injury with a basic antiseptic gel. 

“Arterial damage?”

“I don’t think so,” John replies, scrambling for a pair of gloves. “Just a flesh wound I think, but a nasty one.”

Eliza frowns at the wound. It’s visible even against her black pants, not too large but bleeding freely, and surrounded by scorching that’s all too familiar.

“Is this… a phaser hit?” she asks, confused. “I thought the planet was uninhabited.”

“So did we,” Theo says through gritted teeth. “Those weapons weren’t just similar to ours, they were identical.”

“That’s impossible.”

She shakes her head. “Blast range, frequency, their power on an indirect hit…” she gestures to her leg and grimaces. “Believe me. They’re exactly the same. I’ve got to… tell the others.”

“Burr and that ensign went straight up to the bridge,” John says. 

“What about Washington?” Eliza asks. “Laf?”

John swallows, and for the first time she can see through the veneer of his doctor’s calm. “They’re alive, ‘Liza. And we’re doing everything thing we can to get them back.”

“You should get up there. Tell them about the phasers. I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Of course she bloody has it!” Theo interrupts. “Go help get our men back.”

John nods shakily, and leaves. 

“You’re going to be fine, Theo,” Eliza says. “I’m going to give you something for the pain, if that’s okay, localised so you don’t have to worry about going all woozy on me, and then I’ll see about getting your leg cleaned up. Infections tend to set in in the first fifteen minutes and we’re well within that window.” She’s always been a believer in talking her patients through every step of what she’s doing to treat them. False reassurances do no one any good, and most of her patients are actually more calm for knowing whats happening, no matter it’s gristly realities.

Theo lets her head fall back against the pillows. “So fucking stupid,” she mutters. “Call myself the Chief of Security, and I can’t even keep to cover in a fire fight.”

“You did everything you could.” Eliza argues, deftly injecting a hypo into the top of her thigh. “You got your crew out of there.”

“Not all of them. Washington and Lafayette, that’s on me.”

“We’re going to get them back. And it’s on the people holding them. Whoever they are.”

Theo looks down at the gash on her leg, still smoking in the harsh light of sick bay. “I’m not sure we’re going to enjoy finding out.”

 

\--

 

Alex takes a deep breath, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He closes his eyes, but all he can sees is the stone pillars exploding, and dust filling the air, and _cracked earth, lifeless eyes, winds raging all around and “I’m sorry, Alex,” and-_

“How can we have no idea where they are?” Lee demands. Alex opens his eyes with a snap. The bridge is crammed full of people, yet it seems empty somehow, some ineffable hole that all the bodies and shouted arguments can’t fill. It’s not ineffable though, not at all. He glances at Lafayette’s station (and God, did it have to take this for Alex to work out what his name is?), and the captain’s chair that Angelica’s doing her best to fill, and swallows down the lump sticking in his throat.

“Because, Charles, wherever they’ve been taken has some sort of block on our scanners. Their signals are still there, we just can’t track them.” Angelica says, pinching the bridge of her nose. They’ve been over this point at least three times now, and although she’s doing an impressive job of keeping calm, Alex honestly wouldn't be surprised if she decked the next person to ask a stupid question.

“There’s no way they should have the power for that kind of block,” Mulligan shakes his head. “Our scanning equipment is the best the fleet has, and these people are supposed to be primitives.”

“Not to mention extinct.”

“The firepower we experienced on the planet was far more advanced than intelligence suggested,” Burr adds. 

“Advanced? It was ours! Theodosia said-“

  
“It’s got to be that energy source Lafayette was talking about.”

Alex is surprised at how loud his voice came out, and the whole bridge turns to look at him as if they’ve forgotten he’s there. He clears his throat. “Down on the planet, just before everything went to hell. He was looking at some carvings that didn’t make sense. Something about a machine. That’s got to be it, right? The thing that’s blocking us from locking onto their signals. If we can find that…”

“Then maybe we can find them.” Angelica finishes slowly. 

For a long moment, no one speaks. Then Mulligan says “No offence, but who are you?”

“Ensign Hamilton, Sir.”

“Oh he’s an ensign. Brilliant.”

“He might be right, though.” Angelica says. “But I’m not sure it helps us. We still have no idea how to find this thing.”

“Maybe that’s not true.” Burr has been silent so far, sitting at his station and listening to the circular arguments while he scans the planet again and again for signals that refuse to appear, but now he turns to face the room. “Officer Prevost claims the phasers that fired on us were Starfleet, or at least the same model. It’s possible that this machine, whatever it may be, comes from the same source.”

“You think it’s ours?” Lee asks.

“It’s possible. No scans I have conducted as yet have revealed it, but I have not been scanning for our own frequencies.”

“Can you do it?’ Alex’s heart is pounding somewhere around his ears. 

The Vulcan turns back to his station and inputs a series of complicated commands. The bridge holds it’s breath, waiting. Nothing happens.

“It was a good idea.” Angelica says eventually. “Anyone got a better-?”  
She clamps her mouth shut, interrupted by a soft ping from Burr’s station. A match.

 

 


End file.
